The Color of Rapture
by AvaRosier
Summary: Beacon Hills, 1898. Lydia Martin receives a red envelope inviting her to participate in the Festival of Red- a courtship ritual that enables werewolves to hunt for a mate. Of course she expects to end up with the best werewolf. As if that was even a question. (Written for Dydia Ship week, and based on 'The Festival of Red' by hoars)


AN: This is set in hoars' universe, the fic 'Festival of Red' (which is Stiles/Derek); there is another fic inspired by FoR, 'Aconitum' by KilltheDirector (Peter/Lydia). Both are on AO3.

This was written for Dydia Ship Week, and is basically historically inaccurate smut. I'm not even sorry.

* * *

Beacon Hills, 1898

It was Monday, the seventh of February when Lydia received the red envelope.

Her parents' overly-starched butler, Wilkerson, had held the silver tray out in front of her without expression or comment. Which was good, because her father wasn't paying him to have opinions.

Honestly, Lydia wasn't surprised that she'd received an invitation to participate in the Festival of Red. She had always had an elevated sense of her self-worth and she had long expected that she would marry well- it was just icing on the cake that she would marry well into werewolf society.

The current Alpha of Beacon Hills was a woman, Talia Hale. It was a source of pride for Lydia to be living within the territory of such a competent and ferocious female Alpha. She was one of Lydia's role models. Werewolves tended to be more egalitarian and, thanks to many decades of integration into human society and their demands for respect and equality, the status of human women were gradually changing as well. Lydia had not only attended Wellesley College and studied mathematics; she had been _awarded a degree_. Some women were able to find work with their degrees, but she considered most jobs too plebeian. She would much rather read the latest mathematical articles or books and write critiques to make other scholars feel inadequate.

She dismissed Wilkerson with the wave of a hand and rifled through her writing desk for her pearl encrusted letter opener.

_Miss Lydia Catherine Martin,_

_You have been chosen to participate in this year's Festival of Red. A honor such as this must be considered thoroughly, for a mate-bond is not easily broken. If you wish to accept this invitation, fill out the accompanying forms and return them to Peter Hale, Esq._

Lydia filled up the reservoir of her ceramic fountain pen and began to diligently fill out the acceptance sheet and the declaration of consent with her flowing handwriting. She wasn't worried about her parents refusing- she was twenty-one and it was expected that she marry soon. If her father became problematic, she could always let him know that she had hid away evidence of his embezzlement of funds from his business or threaten to let her mother know that not only did he have a mistress, but he'd fathered two little brats with her. Her parents may not have the most amicable of marriages, but appearances mattered most of all and if her mother knew about 'Annabelle', life at home would be downright miserable for him.

The Festival of Red was held once a year, and was one of four celebrations held throughout the country annually in order for werewolves to find a mate. Any werewolf who wished to participate in the Beacon Hills' Festival had to receive permission from Alpha Hale. Those humans who were granted an invitation to participate in the other side of the ceremony alongside submissive betas or omegas were selected because there were traces of the wolf in their genes or their scent indicated they would be compatible. People who received the red envelope were called the Chosen or the Potentials.

Of course, werewolves found mates outside of the Festival of Red, and sometimes amongst human society, but the Chase was an ancient tradition that many still held sacred. It spoke to the core of their wolves. The purpose of the Chase was to serve as a courtship ritual; a capable wolf had to discern a good mate's scent amongst the hundreds in the Preserve and to track that scent to its owner. The Potentials had to run and hide, even fight, in order to make the wolf earn the honor of mating. The best wolves would find the best mates.

Three weeks' time was just enough for Lydia to make a show of visiting Madame Beaujolais', the most famous dressmaker for the Festival of Red potentials. The shop was prominently displayed in the town square where most of Beacon Hills' upper crust frequented. This time of the year, the gossip-mongers would be sitting on benches, watching the shops like a hawk to discern who had been chosen this year. Lydia caused a small stir that had her smirking as she entered the shop.

_"Not Anthony Martin's daughter? The girl's mother was a Tyler, you know. I bet that Janine will be walking around with a pinched look on her face for the next few months!"_

Her mother had, in fact, not been happy about the prospect of her daughter doing something so base as being _chased through the woods_ in order to be _taken_ by an _animal_. Her father had sputtered and blustered but in the end, Lydia had gotten her way.

At Madame Beaujolais', Lydia had a crimson red cloak commissioned along with the most complicated cream-colored gown she could devise- with layers of petticoats (but nothing so passé as a bustle), a wide skirt with a modest flare, a shapely jacket that cinched at her waist, and silky underthings. The boldest addition to her dress was the pleats that folded at the back of the skirt and flowed down to the hem like a train- it was made with a deep red material that matched her cloak. She appreciated the symbolism. The head seamstress had raised an eyebrow at Lydia's directions, but said nothing.

Lydia's father was paying her handsomely enough not to gossip or speculate.

She didn't anticipate the dress surviving the Chase, but she was hellbent on being declared the most fashionable Potential…and she wanted to make sure the Alpha who tracked her down was forced to work for it. There was no question in her mind that she would be Caught, and by an Alpha (or at least,a Beta with Alpha-potential).

The tradition of wearing a red item for the Chase was to honor the memory of Rotkäppchen. It was a story circulated and retold in the weeks leading up to the Festival. Rotkäppchen had been the first human mate who had not submitted to her werewolf suitor. Contravening centuries of tradition that predated the Reveal, she had demanded that the werewolf prove his worth to her, ignoring the threat he posed to her and her family. She told him that she would only bear a strong, clever wolf's cubs and would rather drown a weak pup than let it live- and the werewolf detected no lie in her heart, so he accepted her challenges.

First, he had to find her in the Black Forest before the sun went down (the Chase).

Second, he had to keep his wits about him in a conversation with her grandmother, who was no fool (now the 'Meet the Parents' portion of the Festival).

Finally, the third task was for the werewolf to prove his devotion and his respect for his human mate- to which end he presented her with a brilliant red cloak that was the envy of people everywhere. (The modern challenge was often kept between mates.)

And thus, human mates were accorded more respect in subsequent generations. The Festival of Red was created to honor this brave young woman. The one lesson Lydia took away from the story of Rotkäppchen was that, on some level, men wanted to be ruled by a woman. Of course, a werewolf was not always male and their mate was not always the opposite sex. Semantics. Lydia wasn't overly concerned with other mate pairings besides her own.

* * *

The night before the Chase, Lydia lay in bed and tried to calm her nerves. She wanted to get plenty of beauty sleep so she looked fresh and dewy in the morning, and still attractive in the afternoon when she was…being mated. With the incandescent lamp by her bedside turned on, she flipped through the pages of one of her more prurient novels- this one a romantic tale of a human woman Caught by a werewolf during a Chase. It described the whole mating process rather explicitly, which caused her to squirm under the covers. Heart beating a little faster, Lydia caressed the soft skin around her collarbones and tried to imagine what it would be like for her tomorrow.

All of the Chosen who had accepted the invitation- this year there were 241, compared with the 186 werewolves who had been permitted to Hunt- had been required to attend a meeting the week before. There, they had been separated into smaller groups, usually segregated by sex, and given an in-depth, frank talk about what they could expect and what happens between a werewolf and their mate.

Lydia's group had been run by Allison McCall (née Argent), who had caused a huge controversy two years before, when she had accepted her invitation to the Festival. She came from an Enforcer family, and was in training still to become an Enforcer herself. Her parents had nearly disowned her. But cooler heads had prevailed and the town Sheriff had meditated an uneasy peace between Chris and Victoria Argent and their daughter and her new mate, Scott McCall.

Allison was a bright and happy woman, no shrinking violet herself, who still blushed a little bit through her descriptions of what mating entailed. Lydia had already read books that were typically forbidden to her sex, so she had some idea of the basics of intimate matters between husbands and wives. The group had listened intently to instructions and helpful hints for making the event pleasurable for themselves in spite of their inexperience or the fear of the unknown (more than one woman had to be carried out in a dead faint after that part) and then discussed some potential strategies for eluding a werewolf in the Preserve.

Lydia had scribbled out list after list of ideas. It couldn't just be something as simple as walking all day, waiting, and then running when she was found. She wanted to have a meaningful memory that her and her new husband would share, even if she couldn't really boast to others about anything more than her general strategy. Some things had to remain private. It might be silly and fanciful of her, but Lydia had witnessed the cold marriage between her parents and hoped that being compatible with a werewolf might mean a more romantic and loving marriage. She could be cold and shallow, but a part of her, one that she kept hidden away, wanted to love someone deeply and be loved just as intensely in return.

She read through the downright pornographic description in the novel and, limbs suffused with heat, slid one hand underneath her nightgown to explore the wetness at the juncture of her thighs. She was so aroused that it took but a minute or two of massaging the source of the tightness, the tiny nodule hidden away in between the fleshy lips, before she was tensing and then shuddering out her pleasure. As she drifted off to sleep, Lydia wondered what her husband would look like, and if she would be happy with him. She hoped so…

Tuesday, March 1st dawned cool and foggy in the Preserve. Lydia had been woken by a maid at four in the morning and had been dressed by fifteen until five. Her father had stepped into the dining room while she tried to break her fast on some toast and fruit. She wasn't going to be able to eat until that evening after the Chase was over and she was hopefully with her new husband in his hotel room, so she chewed the toast without tasting it and hoped it would help her last the day. Anthony Martin had nodded his head awkwardly and tried to impart what was no doubt some profound advice to his daughter on what amounted to her wedding day. Her mother had stayed abed, refusing to even say goodbye or relieve any of her daughter's fears.

"Just be careful out there. Whomever you end up…marrying…you just mind him, okay sweetheart?"

She had smiled politely up at him, just as she had since she was six years old, "Yes, papa." And then the carriage had arrived to escort her to the Preserve.

Now, Lydia stood there, amongst the 200 something humans, betas and omegas, wearing her cloak and pristine white dress. Her ginger hair had been arranged by a maid in plaited curls that extended halfway down her back. Lydia took one look around her and smiled with pleasure as she realized she was most definitely the best-dressed amongst the Chosen.

"Good morning for a wedding, don't you think, Miss Martin?" a soft alto voice murmured next to her as the Justice of Peace droned on and on about the legend of the Chase and extended his well-wishes to the Potentials. Lydia glanced over to the source of the voice and was relieved to see Melissa McCall standing there, dressed in a deep crimson skirt and matching jacket. It wasn't unusual for older humans or werewolves to participate in the Chase, and Melissa McCall was hardly into her twilight years. Her curly brown hair was pinned back into a simple chignon at the base of her head and her cheeks were pink with barely contained excitement.

"Yes it is, although I do wish Justice Monroe would hurry up so we can get started," she muttered to Melissa. The other woman had been granted a divorce from her former husband, Hank McCall, who had abandoned Melissa and Scott when the boy was eight years old. According to gossip, he had been physically abusive, and nobody particularly missed him. Melissa worked as a nurse and Lydia had always appreciated how caring and attentive she was whenever Lydia came by for an examination. Melissa had been legally divorced for two years now and had received an invitation to participate in this year's Festival. It had been a hot piece of gossip for the past three weeks because of human conventions about divorced women and 'women of her age marrying a werewolf when she can't have children any longer- already a grown son at that!'

Lydia thought it was all hogwash.

"Are you nervous? I'm downright terrified!" Melissa chuckled shakily as she looked around the crowd. "I don't know what I was thinking, accepting the invitation. I've already had a bad first attempt at marriage- what if this one is no different?" It struck Lydia then, that she really must be a woman if Melissa was confiding in her like an equal rather than placating her like a young girl.

Lydia thought about it for a moment- that fear was probably shared by most, if not all of the Chosen. "I think Alpha Hale would not tolerate abuses of any mate within her pack, and from what I hear, most Alpha-leaders are the same, therefore none of us go into the marriage alone. Also, there must be a reason why a werewolf finds your scent compatible and pleasing to him…or her. That is a good start, I should think. Everything else is up to us and them."

Melissa was staring at her with incredulity, but then Lydia found herself enveloped in a hug. Several people were looking at them now, but Lydia couldn't find it in herself to care.

"So young to be wise. Don't you worry either, Lydia. I've known you for many years now and you've always demanded equality or taken it for yourself. Any werewolf you end up with will see that and respect it," Melissa whispered fiercely, and Lydia felt some of the weight in her chest dissipate. A part of her wished she could have gotten this from her own mother. But maybe it meant more to her now, coming from another woman.

"With no further ado, Chosen!" Justice Monroe declared at last, "I declare this year's Chase…Open!" And with that, the Chosen started to stream through the open gates into the Preserve. Before she parted from Melissa, Lydia clutched her hand and earnestly told the other woman, "I'll look for you tonight." Melissa nodded in return.

Lydia pulled the hood of her crimson cloak up over her hair and stepped into the woods.

The fog had not dissipated, lending a mystical air to the environment. Lydia felt positively dwarved by the enormous trees that populated this section of the Preserve; dark from last night's rain and green with impending spring. They were ancient, and had witnessed countless Chases and marriages amidst their roots and branches. A day like this, Lydia would gladly have spent with a cup of drinking chocolate and a book, glancing outside at the intermittent rain. Here, out and about in the flesh, she gloried in the cool breeze, the sense of stillness and time, and inhaled the scent of wet earth. There was magic here, she suspected. She felt utterly alive as she began to hurry along, letting her palms brush over rough bark, uncharacteristically not caring about the dirt.

In order for the Chosen to keep track of the passage of time as they spread out and found their own hiding places, loud bells would be rung in unison around the perimeter of the Preserve. Lydia was grateful she had chosen sensible boots to walk in, for she had been walking nearly non-stop until the sound of nine chimes reached her. It was here that she decided to implement her strategy.

She removed her jacket, damp in the arms with sweat, and impaled it on the protruding bark of a Sequoia tree.

Twenty minutes later, her blouse was removed and left on a rock by a bubbling stream. She drank the clean water and refreshed herself before moving on. It took a few minutes to build up the courage, but Lydia finally removed her skirt and draped it on top of a fallen redwood, the red train popping brilliantly amongst the green and brown and the fog. It was misty now, and Lydia hated the way it clung to the remainder of her clothing and made the material feel uncomfortable against her skin…she wasn't brave enough to be nude yet.

By the time she heard eleven chimes, she was down to her pantalettes and a thin undershirt- and the crimson cloak, of course. She'd omitted a corset since it would be nothing but a hindrance if she had to exert herself. Looking around, she decided to settle down and wait for the Release to come. There was a fallen trunk, and the ground was as softly padded as she could hope it to be anywhere else in the Preserve, so she climbed onto the trunk and watched from her perch as the odd other Chosen scrambled past her towards their own hiding places.

She listened for the telltale chime as if it were the Wedding March itself, and waited for her own wolf husband.

* * *

Derek Hale wasn't looking forward to the Chase this year.

It wasn't that he wasn't excited- he was. He could feel the thrum of anticipation coursing through his blood and his wolf was rearing its head from underneath his skin. There were nearly two-hundred unmated werewolves gathered outside the Preserve with him. Even with over fifty extra potential mates hiding in the woods now, not all werewolves would find a suitable mate.

Derek wasn't sure if he hoped he found a mate today or not.

His parents and grandparents had essentially put their collective feet down and strongly encouraged (forced) him to submit his application for participation this year. His extreme reluctance was rooted in a young romance he'd had with none other than Katherine Argent. Derek had been ready to marry her, but she simply couldn't look past him being a werewolf (and that was largely her family's fault) and she'd admitted to not desiring to have children of her own. The broken engagement had shattered his heart and even though Derek couldn't bring himself to hate her, he had become reclusive ever since.

His sister always teased him about being overly serious, and his family had teamed up to do something about it now that he was twenty-six years old. His grandmother was convinced the solution was for him to become a more integral member of the pack…by taking a mate and giving his mother grandpups. And one did not easily refuse Talia Hale.

So now, there he stood outside the Preserve with a bunch of over-excited werewolves, with minutes to go before this year's Chase began.

He nodded at his uncle, Peter, as the older man strolled over to where Derek stood. Peter had been married before; to a woman he had Caught. They'd had a child. But then Noah and Jennifer had perished in a fire and it had taken supreme efforts by his family to keep him from going rogue and abandoning his pack. Peter had finally decided to seek another mate last year, after eleven years of being a lone wolf. He hadn't found anyone satisfactory, but he had shown up again this year. Derek knew his uncle was more of a staunch traditionalist compared to the other members of the pack. He held to the old ways in many matters, and did not try to seek a mate outside of the Festival.

"We are wolves at our core, Derek," Peter had explained to him once. "And wolves hunt for their mates; the Chase establishes the partnership between the two. It's just not the same the human way."

Derek wasn't against the Chase or finding a mate the traditional way, he just hated that he was being pressured into it by his mother. There were expectations that came with being the son of the Alpha. At least he wasn't alone this year- his older sister and the Alpha-heir, Laura, was participating as well. Derek glanced over his shoulder to where she stood, naked, with an expression of grim determination on her face. It was her fifth Chase. Their mother was beginning to despair her daughter's pickiness. But Derek understood his sister well; she was going to be Alpha someday- her mate had to be able to handle the role that came with it and be her husband.

Nearly everybody was naked. As werewolves, they often walked amongst one other in the nude, since clothes did not survive many shifts or a run. Consequently, wolves did not adopt the humans' sense of modesty. That's not to say they didn't appreciate the humans' desire to be heavily clothed- Derek found himself fascinated by the complicated clothing many human women wore and fantasized about undoing all those buttons and stays and slowly undressing her, item by item, until she was naked as the day she had been born.

His cock gave a twitch at the thought of possibly finding a mate today, and the spike in arousal right next to him made Peter sniff the air and raise an eyebrow in his nephew's direction.

"Feeling confident in your odds?" The older man smirked.

Derek only growled at him, already responding to the tension in the air and beginning to shift. His eyes flashed blue, his teeth lengthened into fangs and his claws began to extend. Growls began to rumble through the crowd of werewolves as his mother, Alpha Talia Hale walked to the podium and spoke the traditional words before she swung a heavy hammer at the ritual bell that would declare Chase begun.

Her red eyes found both her children and Derek exchanged a respectful nod with her. He would try his best today, he had promised his family at least that much. Peter had already shifted completely into his wolf-form and took off in a leisurely lope, evidently not in a hurry.

Partially shifted, Derek let his wolf overtake him and once he was comfortably past the treeline, he began to run in wide, loping strides. His senses were taking in everything, but most importantly, scent. He was picking up dozens of different scents of the Chosen as he went, some more pleasing than others, but nothing that made his wolf _certain_.

So he let himself enjoy the run, and he had been making fair progress through the Preserve when his nose caught a hint of _something_. That something brought him up short. He crouched down near the sodden earth and focused his attention on that cloying thread that was speaking to him, encouraging him to come closer.

Derek leaped over a fallen tree and came to a sudden stop when he found a ladies' white skirt with a blood-red sash down the back. Clutching it close in his claws, he sniffed deeply, inhaling the scent of its owner. _Yes, yes!_ His wolf insisted, _this is Mate! Find her, take her!_

It's difficult to explain the mate-scent, it's something deeply personal and it's not necessarily identifiable scents like 'vanilla' or 'cinnamon'. The woman whose scent he was wholly focused on right now, hers held some sweetness, but also a bold spiciness, and she smelled…certain. That was the best word he could think of to describe her scent.

Relief coursed through his human brain. Derek was just glad he had recognized a scent, and that he had found someone he could mate with. That was one hurdle crossed; the next was to find her before sundown.

Good thing he was a very accomplished tracker.

He found her matching jacket next and inhaled the material that was near her armpit deeply. Yes, this was her, he was even more sure now. Somewhere in the distance he could hear and smell the sounds of a newly mated pair consummating their marriage. He forced himself to stop and think. A human woman would've taken her jacket off before her skirt, wouldn't she? Which means he was headed in the wrong direction.

She had clearly done this on purpose. _Clever, clever mate_. He liked this game. With a dark grin, he took off in a run once more.

Two bells echoed through the preserve, announcing two hours since the Chase had begun, and four more hours to go. By the third hour mark, he had backtracked past her skirt and discovered her blouse, petticoats, and her stockings. She was close, his wolf was sure of it.

* * *

Some time before the third bell had sounded through the forest, Lydia had gotten bored. Whoever her mate was, he'd be tracking her scent, so surely it wouldn't hurt to get up and wander a bit? And so she had abandoned her comfy spot on the fallen trunk and weaved through the trees, moving along a downwards slope.

She heard them before she saw them. The sound of a low, shuddering moan had reached her ears and Lydia had nearly gasped in realization. She'd been focused on the idea of her finding a mate and consummating their new marriage that she hadn't considered the thought that she might see other people fornicating.

She says 'fornicating' because 'making love' seemed too paltry a word for what she came across: a blonde werewolf astride a human man, her body undulating against him. It was his moans Lydia had been hearing. As she unconsciously crept closer, she recognized the man as the Sheriff's son, Stiles Stilinski. They were beautiful together, and Lydia couldn't help being hypnotized by the sight the woman made as she held Stiles' arms down and sought their pleasure together.

She let out a sigh, a wetness growing between her thighs and the werewolf raised her head to locate the stranger in her midst. Evidently, she decided Lydia wasn't a threat and just grinned toothily at the voyeur in her midst. Lydia watched them for another minute before she saw the female's head jerk upwards, her nose twitching as if she had smelled something alarming. But all the blonde woman did was meet Lydia's curious stare with a raised eyebrow. When she focused on something beyond Lydia's shoulder, that's when she realized that maybe there was another wolf behind her.

_Her wolf._

She didn't hesitate; she took off in a dead sprint, not even bothering to look behind her to see what her mate looked like. She'd been told that it was suggested that the Chosen run when they were discovered, so that the werewolf could give chase- but that hadn't quite been Lydia's plan. Except now, she found herself running out of instinct, not even sure why it mattered right now.

Lydia ran for what felt like thirty minutes, but was probably closer to ten. Werewolves naturally could catch up to humans in much less time than that- as Allison had explained to her- the point of letting the mate run longer was to tire them and to draw out the pleasure of the chase. To make the mate feel like they had truly eluded the werewolf, and to let the werewolf feel like they were being playful now that they had located their mate.

A stream forced her to turn left, and Lydia ran along it, trying to avoid logs and low-lying branches. But then she was rapidly approaching an enormous fallen redwood and she made the decision to try to clear it. But as she drew nearer, she realized it was taller than she had originally judged and when she took a flying leap, she only ended up stuck on top of it.

The realization was slow seeping into her brain that her Chase was now over. She was Caught. It was _time_. Like in all those stories she had read, and all her fantasies in the dark of her childhood room.

Her feet swung wildly as she tried to dislodge herself so that she could face the werewolf that would be her husband. She would _not _allow him to take her in this undignified way. She let out a squeak as her hands and knees scrabbled on the rough bark, but before she could push herself off the trunk, a low growl sounded behind her. _Very_ closely behind her.

Lydia went absolutely still.

A pair of calloused fingers made contact with the skin of her calves, claw-tips sending shivers of anticipation racing up her nerve endings to the growing arousal between her legs. Slowly, the werewolf behind her lifted the hem of the cloak over her hips until her bottom half was exposed to his gaze.

She could hear soft rumbles coming from his chest and chanced a glance backwards, as best as she could manage in this position. Her werewolf was tall, dark-haired, and from what she could make out with him being in a partial-shift, handsome and well-proportioned. And yes, she glanced downward and noticed he was definitely _ready_ to mate with her. Lydia moaned at the thought, and there must have been a spike in the scent of her arousal, because his claws were tearing open her pantalettes and before she could exclaim in alarm, she was feeling the warm puffs of his breath on her bared buttocks.

She gasped and squirmed against the peculiar sensation, and a wanton moan was rent from her throat when the rough tongue made a pass over the one place she wanted it the most. He held her thighs apart carefully, and kept her braced against the wet bark of the tree trunk as he diligently set about making sure she was prepared to be mounted.

The air was cool on her backside, but in between her thighs, she was burning white hot. It did not take long of such an intimate and illicitly thrilling act to bring her to the brink. The tension between her legs tightened before the focus of the werewolf's tongue, lashing against her clitoris, finally brought about a sweet wave of release that fluttered through her body.

Lydia shuddered vocally and collapsed over the wood, panting slightly. While she tried to get her wits about her, the werewolf was tugging her hips down several inches. She realized he was going to take her this way and remembered her plan.

"No!" She declared, pushing him away with her feet and rolling over so that she was facing him. He growled threateningly at her, showing her claw and fang. Lydia blushed and tried not to look down.

"You will _not_ mate with me like this, do you understand me?" She used her most commanding voice with him, jerking her legs out in a display of her resolve. One booted foot caught him in the shoulder. "You will help me down _right this instant_!" The werewolf let out a hiss, but he stepped up to where Lydia was perched and she felt his clawed hands carefully curl around her waist and then lift her off the tree trunk.

She clutched his shoulders until he set her down on her feet. Looking up at him, Lydia was surprised to see him regarding her patiently. The way others put it, she thought the entire mating process would be quick. As she fidgeted before her new husband, she was reminded of the wetness between her thighs and the still-present desire to finish what they had started.

Lydia met his eyes, electric blue and tracking her every movement, and then she was no longer afraid. She untied her crimson cloak and laid it on the damp earth. Clad in the ribbons of her pantalettes and a short chemise, and her feet bare at last, she laid back down on the velvet material. Mustering up every last ounce of boldness, Lydia parted her legs wantonly, baring herself to him once more, and held her hand out to the werewolf before her.

He growled lowly at the invitation and in a blur of movement, he was looming over her.

She licked her lips and looked up at him, "Help me take these off." She fingered the thin material clinging to her form in the mist. The strength of the fog surrounding the clearing made her feel like they were the only ones in the forest.

_SNIKT_

She gasped as the werweolf tore at the silk, shredding it with his claws, and tossed it over to the side. Lydia reminded herself that this was her husband, and that if he'd had his mouth on her most intimate parts, then she certainly had the right to touch him. Overcoming a strict education in propriety was not easy, but she forged ahead bravely.

As he crawled back over her body and began to nip at the bounty of pale, bare flesh on display for him, Lydia placed her hands on his shoudlers and let them travel over the clenched muscles of his upper back. Her mate ghosted his mouth over her ribs until he could reach out and taste one nipple. Lydia bucked underneath him and unconsciously let her nails dig into his back.

Her werewolf hissed with what she thought was pleasure and settled himself down in the cradle of her thighs. He was hot and heavy against her and Lydia slid her legs upwards until they were wrapped around his hips, leaving her open to him.

It burned and ached a little as he began the slow, inexorable push inside her. She had to remind herself to breathe in and out, and holding him close so that she could feel his heart beating against her breasts helped her calm down until he was fully seated in her. Werewolf though he may be, her husband paused for a moment and she understood he did this for her sake. He buried his nose against her throat, scenting her. A teasing brush of his fangs against the tender skin of her neck sent her into a full-bodied shiver. This made several things happen: first, her nipples brushed against the dusting of hair on his chest, the coarse texture abrading the delicate flesh. It felt so nice, Lydia couldn't help squirming against him and she gasped when sparks of pleasure shot out from between her thighs, where they were joined.

It became a never-ending cycle. Her mate began to pump his hips against hers and she found that she needed to plant her feet onto the cloak in order to gain enough leverage to meet his increasingly rough thrusts. Her efforts made him growl louder in her ear and for her pleasure to draw nearer and nearer.

Heady from seeing the effect she could have on him, Lydia clutched him closer to her until she could moan into his ear. "I want your knot in me. Fill me with your seed; breed me; get me fat with your pups." She was too busy to blush at the filthy words streaming out of her mouth. Just saying them thrilled her exceedingly, and the picture she now had in her head had her moaning louder and the rhythm of her hips stuttering. It certainly had the desired impact on her husband: he hissed and fucked her even harder. Lydia struggled to draw in enough oxygen, inhaling the twin scents of forest and man.

She felt it then,as his cock widened at the base and the width moved gradually up the shaft and Lydia nearly sobbed when he worked the knot into her. It was almost too much, and she dimly registered herself murmuring over and over again. "Please, please..."

Her orgasm rolled through her and she pushed herself harder up against him, rotating her hips wildly. This set her mate off.

She wailed; he howled.

A blinding pain blossomed on her shoulder as he gave her his Mating Mark. Lydia kept rocking her pelvis up into his, over and over, dragging out the intense spasms that were wracking her body. As they faded, so did she.

* * *

She came to when the sound of four chimes echoed through the woods. Blinking her eyes in a daze, she focused on the warm body whose heavy weight was settled atop hers. In a flash, it all came back to her- the Chase, being Caught by her mate, the way he had felt in her. The way he felt in her right now- she must not have been asleep long, because she could still feel him inside her, his knot keeping her full and secure. Lydia tried not to wriggle too much.

Her new husband had shifted back to human and as she stirred beneath him, he raised his head up from where he had been nuzzling the skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Where he had given her the mating bite. Now that he was no longer partially shifted, she could see that his eyes were moss-green with a ring of hazel brown near the irises. His features were sharp and his eyebrows were thick and bold. He was gorgeous, and he was all hers.

Good thing he had mated with her, it would have been a shame if he had to waste his good genes on ugly children.

They regarded each other for the first time as man and woman, and Lydia realized that she _did_ recognize him. Before she could say a word, her husband bent back down and gently pressed his lips against hers. She was shocked still for a moment, but she found herself returning it. When he lifted his head once more, he had a peculiar expression of wonderment on his face and her lips were still tingling.

"What's your name," he asked, his chest rumbling with the vibration of his voice. Lydia's thighs could not stop shaking from their earlier strain and she was trying to brace her feet on the cloak underneath her. "Lydia Catherine Martin. You're Alpha Hale's son, aren't you?"

He nodded, taking in every feature of her face. "Derek."

This was most excellent! Lydia had been so certain she would be mated with a werewolf of status, and she had been right. She preened happily at the thought of walking through town on his arm. Derek looked like he was about to comment on her smile, but then he looked down to where their bodies were still joined.

"The knot's gone down." He pulled out and Lydia winced at the soreness and the strange sense of emptiness inside her. Derek lay down next to her on the crimson cloak and gave her a gruff "come here" as he tugged on her arm until she was curled up against his side.

While she let her fingers caress the coarse hair on his broad chest, Lydia tried to remember her list of questions that she had intended to ask him after the marriage had been consummated. He answered them with good humor, not seeming the tiniest bit intimidated by her ambitious plans for the future. They shared little things about each other, and at one point, his fingers brushed against the mark on her neck, which sent a bolt of heat through her body. After that, there was no talking.

He flipped her over until she was on her hands and knees and he was crouched behind her. He took her this way, pausing halfway through to pull her torso back against his so that he could hold her prisoner with one forearm braced against her breasts while two barely un-clawed fingers massaged her between her legs.

Afterwards, he couldn't keep the smug smile off his face that she had keened her orgasm even more loudly than the first two times. Lydia huffed at what she called his "stupid male pride" and slapped his arm as if that would make him stop. Sex might not be the best way to decide this, but Lydia thought she could enjoy being married to Derek Hale, and not just because he was the son of Alpha Hale.

They came together two more times, once rough and fast and once more tenderly, before they decided to head for the gates in order to be registered by the time six bells rang.

* * *

As they strolled through the woods, hand in hand, Derek marveled at the tiny human by his side. He'd avoided the thought of taking a mate for so long, and had reluctantly given into his mother when she encouraged (demanded) that he participate this year, so he hadn't really given a thought to what taking a mate would concretely mean.

This woman, this Lydia Catherine Martin, who seemed composed of long legs, red hair, pouting lips, and steel determination was his wife and they were going to forge a life together. Right now, Derek didn't have the foggiest idea _how _to do that.

All he knew was that he needed to take her to the suite allocated to him in the Luna Hotel that was situated near one of the gate entrances to the Preserve. This was where werewolves and their new mates would go after the Chase to bathe themselves, to be clothed and fed, and then they were expected to go before his mother, Sheriff Stilinski, and Justice Monroe to have their marriages recognized and recorded.

It would be several more days of celebrations before the Festival of Red was completed and he could take her to his home. _Their home_. She'd probably refurbish it from top to bottom, but he found that he was looking forward to the battle. His mate was clever, ambitious, and hid the depths of her tenderness away. Derek was not at all put-off by her adulation at his status in the Hale pack; he thought they would be a good fit.

His mother and sister were going to adore her.

That thought caused him to stop short. _Shit_.

Lydia realized he was no longer next to her and spun around near the tree line. Derek could see the lights of the gate in the distance and hear the voices of nearby couples making their way closer. She was completely wrapped up in her crimson cloak while he was still stark naked. She placed her hands on her hips, and raised an expectant eyebrow in his direction. "Well, _come on_! Some of us haven't eaten in over twelve hours- I feel like I've lost nine pounds from all that running and…" she fumbled for words and Derek just grinned down at his wife.

"…fucking?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't be so crass. But yes, consummating our marriage has left me hungry enough to eat a horse. You're my mate, I expect you to feed me. And then we'll have to clean ourselves thoroughly in order to look presentable for your mother."

With that, she flipped her mussed up plait of hair over her shoulder and spun on her heel. Derek watched her hips sway back and forth underneath the cloak as she sauntered towards the gate as if she weren't naked as a babe underneath.

"I'll feed you and help clean you, _thoroughly_," he called after her as he caught up in several long strides.

She just looked back over her shoulder and gave him a slow, mischievous smile.

Yeah, he thought he could get used to having her around.


End file.
